What Must Be Done
by namjai
Summary: Susan does what she can in the Year That Never Was.


**Author's Notes:** Written for **doreyg **as part of the LJ community unearthychild's Whatever Happened to Susan ficathon. **doreyg**'s wishlist: a regeneration; Susan being independent; a post-Time War setting; a rare pairing; David Tennant era/Jon Pertwee era. I got _almost_ all of it. Maybe all, if you squint really hard.

Thanks to **charliesmum **and **persiflage1** for the emergency beta!

* * *

**What Must Be Done**

Just one little adjustment here, another tiny adjustment there. Faults introduced, miniscule and seemingly insignificant, seeded early in the life of the project, in its infancy. No, even earlier. _Call it prenatal care_, Susan thought, a wry smile crossing her face as she completed the subtle changes that she hoped would remain undetected for decades -- until it was too late, when all attempts to counter it would be frustrated by the virus's own defensive measures. Not a cascade of catastrophic failure -- that would be too much. Mucking about with history, breaking the laws of time, that required a delicate touch.

Finally satisfied with her work, Susan stepped back from the antiquated computer console. So absorbed had she been in her task that she was not as attentive to her surroundings as she ought to have been, considering that her permission to be here was on shaky ground. And so she was startled when a man's voice broke the silence.

"What have we here? I was not aware that UNIT exiled young women to tinker with its computers in this dungeon." Standing a few meters away was a man with graying dark hair and beard, suave in a black suit. "Or," he added, "you're not supposed to be in here."

"I doubt you're supposed to be in here," Susan said.

"Now, now. I've discovered an intruder. That might earn me some appreciation for once. What were you doing?"

"I don't have any reason to tell you." Her eyes swept the room for exits, but she stayed planted where she was. She believed her work was undetectable, but it wouldn't do to give him the chance to look for it.

He took a step closer, and Susan held her ground. His eyes fixed on hers, he intoned, "You will tell me what you were doing here. I am the Master, and you will obey me."

Susan burst into giggles.

The Master frowned, nonplussed. Obviously, he was used to inspiring more fear and, Susan supposed, obedience, but really, it was just silly. Terribly easy to deflect him. She giggled again.

The Master's annoyance was turning to curiosity. She could now sense his more subtle attempts at breaching her mind, but she was long practiced in shutting out all such intrusions. She was unreadable -- and the Master was intrigued.

"You're not human," he said.

"Neither are you."

He ignored that. "So what is this? Prelude to an invasion? Something to defang UNIT before larger plans are put into action?"

Susan tried to look mysterious. If that's what he wanted to believe, it was as good a story as any. "What were _you_ doing here?" she asked.

"Having a look around. Curiosity got the better of me when by chance I found this place unlocked. Your doing?"

Susan nodded in a noncommittal way. She had to get him away from here, and a reckless idea struck her -- the direct approach. "It doesn't matter. My work here is done, and I'm famished. I want to eat. Do you want to join me?"

She was gambling with more than just her personal safety by walking off with a man she knew to be irredeemably evil. Every moment she stayed in this time was risky. The Time Lords might well have accused her of any manner of sins against time. But they were gone, and Susan was on her own, doing what must be done.

So she found herself settled in a nook of a British pub with her grandfather's old enemy. And old friend, she recalled. Grandfather had never talked about him to Susan, but she had vague memories of her mother sniping about unsavory connections coming to an end when the Master left Gallifrey. Little did Mother know how Grandfather would become just as much an outcast from Time Lord society, and not too long after.

But that was so long ago, lost and gone. To Susan, at least. The urbane man before her had no inkling of what catastrophes were fated for their home planet.

She suspected, however, that he knew just what kind of "alien" she was.

He ordered a Scotch and Susan a beer -- and chips when she realized she really was famished. With a slight air of disdain, the Master declined her offer to share. Not fine enough for his tastes, she supposed, but she hadn't had these in an age.

It was foolish how the greasy, salty, starchy food brought back a rush of memories, of afterschool wanderings in 1963 London, and then, more poignantly, of hardscrabble days on a Scottish farm. David had planted potatoes and from the first harvest they had had a go at making chips. The oil and the salt were salvaged from some abandoned grocer's, farther past their freshness than Susan liked to think -- but those potatoes were dug out of a renewed earth, and Susan had never tasted anything so wonderful.

She had seen this Earth, her sometime adopted home, devastated twice now. And in between those points in her life, there was first the loss of David to the painfully short human lifespan, and then the obliteration of the planet of her birth. Not again. Earth, at least, would come back again.

Feeling suddenly giddy, she toasted the Master with a chip, earning from him a sardonic raised eyebrow.

He took a sip of his scotch. "If you would explain to me your plans, perhaps we could help each other. Anyone working against UNIT must be an ally of mine."

"They're only humans. Why do you care about UNIT?"

"I don't," he said sharply, unconvincingly. "They have foiled me on occasion, but it is less that band of incompetents than" -- perhaps on the verge of saying a name, he caught himself, considering Susan shrewdly -- "than one of their employees." He said the last word as if it were an insult. "An employee more talented than the rest of them."

"So you want to beat that one person?" _And you'll keep at it for eons, won't you?_ "I don't care about your personal rivalries. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm done here. I don't really need your help."

"Then why are you here, wasting my time?"

"I was hungry. And I had to get you away from there, of course. Don't bother going back. You'll never find anything. I designed it that way."

She felt a lurch in her stomach as his eyes narrowed, and she knew she was no longer amusing or intriguing him. The pub was bustling with customers -- would he dare try anything with all these witnesses?

He did not make a move when she abruptly stood, fumbling in her pocket and producing a few pound notes, which she dropped on the table.

"Going so soon?" he asked.

"Yes, I must."

He stood as well. "Let me walk you home."

"That's all right -- it's not far." An undertone of fear had crept into her voice, and she seemed to have caught the attention of nearby patrons.

The Master did not notice them. He caught her wrist. "I don't believe your home is anywhere near here."

"Nor yours."

She could feel his mind trying to reach into hers again, and the effort of shutting him out steadied her. In this time, in this place, there was nothing he could do to her that she could not return threefold -- and she did. Whereas before, her mental defense had been something like a politely closed door, now it was more like a forceful shove. The Master dropped her wrist and took a jolted step backward.

"I'm better at this than you." Susan leaned in and spoke in a low voice. "There's nothing you can do to my mind, and if you try anything physical and these people" -- she indicated the staring patrons with a tilt of her head -- "call the authorities … Well, I'm a stranger here. No one will recognize me, do you understand? But you're a wanted man. So you'll let me go without a fuss."

She could feel him mentally pull back, and even as his eyes were seething, he recovered his dignity, smoothed the front of his black suit and said, "Good day, then. It's been charming. Perhaps we shall see each other again."

"Perhaps. But it won't be here. Goodbye."

The potential drama averted, the other patrons were returning to their own conversations as Susan walked out. She knew the Master would soon follow her, but it was true that she did not have far to go. She quickened her pace nevertheless until she reached a lorry emblazoned with the words "Campbell Farms -- Fine Produce."

And there the Master was -- Susan glimpsed him turning the corner onto the street, as she unlocked one of the lorry's rear doors and slipped inside her TARDIS.

She had managed a calm walk here, but now she rushed over to the console and set the ship in flight -- taking some pleasure in imagining the Master's frustration as he heard the sound of dematerialization, his suspicions proved correct just as she escaped.

Unless he had taken her pulse, then he might already know what she was. She rubbed her wrist, still feeling his grip.

"Did it work? I suppose we won't know that till we get back, will we?"

Her hands still shaking from adrenaline, Susan turned to her companion, a human woman in her late 50s who stood opposite Susan at the console. Even though they had only been apart a few hours, the sight of Jo Grant filled Susan with gratitude for this one person in the universe she could lean on.

Susan answered Jo: "No, we can't know. We may not even know when we return to your time."

"But you got it done? I let you into UNIT HQ and you sabotaged their computers?"

"I wouldn't call it sabotage, not really," Susan said in mock protest. "Just a little. Anyway, yes, you helped. I couldn't have done it without you, both of you. You convinced your younger self to trust me enough to help me."

"I thought maybe once it was done, I'd remember meeting my older self, remember helping you -- but I don't."

"I had to take those memories from you. Just a little hypnotic suggestion."

"Hypnosis?"

Susan had hit a nerve, and no wonder. Jo had been just as much under Saxon's thrall as everyone else. She had been incredulous when this strange, younger-looking woman contacted her, claiming to be the Doctor's granddaughter, and when they met, trying to convince Jo that the politician she so admired was an old enemy. It had taken Susan's own mental powers to break the spell holding Jo. Even if it had been possible for Susan to break the Master's control the world over, it was too late -- that very day, the Toclafane arrived, and tactics had to change.

And now Susan found herself explaining to Jo: "I'm toying with the Web of Time enough as it is, with what I did. There's no one left to repair it, and I have to minimize the damage."

"And do you need to make me forget again? Are you going to hypnotize me now?"

"Oh no! You're where and when you should be. You can keep the memories now. I'm so sorry. I should have told you what I'd have to do."

Jo's smile was already forgiving. "I suppose I should have known. The Brigadier met himself once, so he told me. He said it was quite a dangerous thing to do."

"You handled it beautifully, both of you."

"Working with the Doctor prepared me for all sorts of strange situations." Her smile faltered as the TARDIS column shuddered to a stop. "Are we back?"

Susan took a deep breath. "Let's check the scanner."

Their eyes turned upward toward the screen high on the wall of the white console room. Nothing but desolation.

"How can it look like that?" Jo said. "How long have we been gone?"

"I don't know. I set the controls so quickly…"

"We'll have to go out and see." A faint trace of resolution was returning to Jo's voice.

They were safe in here and only in here. Susan wanted to tell Jo to stay in the TARDIS while she went out to investigate, but she knew Jo would never stand for it.

"All right," Susan said. "Let's go."

* * *

Susan's TARDIS had taken the form of a shed, just as derelict as the empty house it stood behind, surrounded by tall weeds.

"I suppose there's no use looking for a newspaper to tell us the date," Jo said.

"Or to tell us what's going on," Susan added quietly. The deep, chilling silence seemed to call for hushed tones.

They explored the empty house briefly. It was far too easy to imagine what had befallen its inhabitants, as well as their neighbors. Moving on, Susan and Jo walked through the streets, keeping out of sight as much as they could in the gloomy twilight, ducking behind abandoned cars and overgrown hedges. Finally, Susan laid a hand on Jo's arm, halting her.

"Listen. Voices -- in that house."

They crept underneath a window, trying to make out the occasional murmurs within. Then Jo clutched Susan's hand as they caught just the words they had been hoping to hear: "Martha Jones … still out there …"

Susan and Jo exchanged smiles of relief and a tiny bit of hope.

"It worked," Jo whispered in wonder.

Susan could not be so certain of the cause and effect, but she had done her part, undermining the Valiant's technology that might have detected Martha Jones. The virus had lain in wait for decades, threaded through any project connected to UNIT, ready to spring if anyone tried to contrive a way to see past a perception filter. And maybe, just maybe, it had worked.

"Susan?" Jo said, happiness draining from her voice.

Susan heard it too: the rumble of military vehicles and the deadly whir of Toclafane. The two women pressed themselves against the wall of the house; inside, the people had fallen silent, hoping for the patrol to pass them by.

But it was not to be. This house was the target, and soon, Saxon's human soldiers were dragging terrified men and women from their hideout. Susan and Jo were discovered by an armed man who had been ordered to check for escapees out the back. They were shoved into the group of other captives.

"You were idiots to run," a man who had been barking orders told them all. "Traitors. You will be returned to the factory, where your fitness to work -- mental and physical -- will be reevaluated. If you are lucky, a few of you may escape execution. You are fortunate our lord and master needs workers." In conclusion, he snapped at his underlings: "Load them into the van."

One of the men was standing near Susan and she noticed his hands were shaking almost imperceptibly as he stole glances at the Toclafane hovering overhead. "Sir?" he said. "Look at these two. Are they on the list?" Another glance at the darting Toclafane.

His commander strode up and looked Susan and Jo up and down. It was undeniable: They were conspicuously well-fed and well-dressed, compared to the hollow-cheeked, shabby factory workers. Susan herself had noticed, and was becoming convinced they had returned much later than the time they had left.

"Where did they come from?"

"Found them outside the house, sir."

Jo yelped as the commander lunged for her, but he only pulled from her jacket pocket a wallet, which he flipped open to see her identification.

"Josephine Grant," he read. "Check it," he said to one of his men, then indicated Susan to the scared one: "Miller, search her."

Susan stood tense as she was patted down, her pockets rifled.

"Nothing, sir."

"What's your name?" the commander snarled.

"Susan Campbell."

At that point, a soldier handed the commander a mobile. "Josephine Grant, yeah," he said to whoever was on the other end. "Right … that explains a lot. Check the name Susan Campbell." Taking the phone from his ear, he addressed Jo: "So, a former UNIT employee, and one known to be associated with traitors. Starting with your ex-husband, Clifford Jones, now deceased."

"What?" Jo cried out.

"You didn't know that? Oh yes. He was rounded up and shot, suspected of plotting against the Master." Jo was stricken, but he continued coldly, "Your UNIT colleagues are a class of people known for disloyalty. Most of them are also dead by now, but you, you've been missing for a year. Where have you been?"

"Hiding," Jo lied. "Just trying to survive, like everyone else."

With a look of mingled skepticism and contempt, he returned to the phone. "Well? Nothing? Keep looking." And he snapped the mobile shut. "No records of you," he told Susan.

"Oh, I'm nobody important."

"Too right. But we still want to know where you come from and what you and your girlfriend here have been doing."

"Like Jo said, surviving, nothing more."

"Not good enough."

"What would be good enough?" Jo broke in, still trembling with emotion at the news of her ex-husband's death. "Being like you, a traitor to the human race?"

There was a murmur of emboldened assent from the ragged captives -- quickly quelled by the men with guns. But an idea had struck Susan: She had broken Saxon's hold over Jo. Could she do the same with this man?

When he turned back to her, she caught his eye and he seemed momentarily transfixed.

"You don't want to do this," she said. "You don't owe Saxon anything." She could sense that she also had the attention of that scared underling, still standing nearby. Not only him, but captives standing near. Susan fought against being overwhelmed by them all …

But the commander's blank face broke into a horrible smile. He had not resisted her, she realized -- it was just that he didn't care.

"What do I owe Saxon? Only giving me the best job in the world," he said, his hand on his gun in a brief caress. "Now tell me where you come from and who you really are. One way or another, we'll find out."

A woman, one of the factory workers, snorted next to Susan. "Pathetic."

Everyone seem to freeze, just at the shock of it. Miller gaped at the woman, his gun dangling -- and was that sympathy in his expression?

"You talk like you're all-powerful, all-seeing. Where's Martha Jones, then? How long have you been looking for her?" The murmurs of agreement were more pronounced now, coming from this woman's comrades.

But the commander was not swayed. It happened so fast: He turned his gun on the woman; Susan, unthinking, threw herself at him, pulling the gun away.

It was not an accident. He pulled the trigger. Susan went down.

Through the haze of pain, she heard chaos explode around her. The Toclafane dove for the woman who had spoken, and even the commander ran out of the way. Screams erupted, everyone was fleeing. Everyone but Jo, who was on the ground, next to Susan, frantically dragging her away from the carnage.

"You'll … you'll be okay," Jo choked out.

Susan shook her head, eyes wide. But Jo was right, just not in the panicked denial of her words. Susan had been through this before. Twice, thanks to the Time War. Third time then. And now, as every time, her hearts' wish escaped in a piteous plea: "Grandfather…" But as before, the plea went unanswered.

She felt Jo drop her to the ground, but not by choice -- someone uniformed was roughly dragging her away as she screamed. Then the noises dimmed, even the pain receded …

Her next awareness was the ache of her new body on the cold pavement in the descending night, surrounded by awestruck humans. Even the Toclafane above had halted its slaughter, watching, it seemed, with the same fascination as the humans were.

Jo broke free from the soldier holding her and caught up Susan in a sobbing hug. Behind her, the commander got back onto his phone, never taking his eyes off Susan.

"Get me the Valiant. I've got a prisoner. I don't think it's human. … What do you mean you can't reach it?"

Susan put a hand to her head. There was something very strange going on.

"Are you all right?" Jo asked. "Susan?"

"I don't know. I can feel … I don't know what it is. It's never been like this before. It's something else. Something's coming."

Reflexively, Jo looked up to the sky. Only the lone Toclafane was there, nervously, ominously darting again. "What is it?"

"Time," Susan said, just as the wave washed over them.

* * *

In a park in London, Susan Campbell watched a small girl leaning over the lip of a fountain, splashing her hands with glee while her mother stood nearby, chatting with a friend. It was a beautiful day, and despite Susan's worries about this man Saxon who had just been made prime minister, she couldn't help but giggle along with the toddler's simple joy. Everything was as it should be.

Or was it? It wasn't just the Saxon problem, something suddenly struck Susan as not quite right. The flow of time around her seemed disturbed in some way she couldn't put her finger on. Something just out of her reach. Not to mention a rather powerful feeling of déjà vu.

Something enormous had happened. _I may even have to do this_, she thought. _But what if I want to, all the same?_

Beyond the fountain, sitting on a bench, waiting to meet Susan for the first time -- for they had only exchanged e-mails -- was Jo Grant, smiling, undisturbed by the strange currents that Susan felt. In fact, Jo was watching the same playful toddler, whose dress was now wet down the front. With a laugh, Susan walked over to Jo Grant and introduced herself again.

**The End**


End file.
